Domesticated
by xkArielHensonxk
Summary: It's been a little over a year since Quagmire had killed Jeff, his sister's brutally abusive boyfriend. However, the year hadn't been filled with the satisfaction he thought it would be. He had grown slightly unstable after learning what it felt like to be in his sister's place - after learning what it felt like to be violated by Jeff. Warnings: Swear words, mentions of rape, etc.


I've never written for _Family Guy _before, so fingers-crossed! I hope that you all will enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Swear words, sexual themes (implied rape), and ideologically sensitive material.

In a side note, this is loosely based on the episode "Screams of Silence: The Story of Brenda Q.", the episode where Brenda (Quagmire's sister) is brutally abused by her boyfriend, Jeff.

* * *

Quagmire had really hit rock bottom over the past year. He had become a nervous wreck – a shell of the man he once was. Sure, he still chased anything in a skirt and kicked back some beers with his buddies. But, he had never been quite the same after everything the past year had piled on him.

He had begun to grow distant, albeit slowly. He skipped a few meetings with Peter and Joe at the Clam, he passed up a few chances to score a little tail, and he'd grown even more attached to the bottle. In fact, beer was probably the only thing he hadn't tried to push away.

He sat on the edge of his bed with a beer bottle gripped in his hand. He took a deep swig before he dropped the emptied bottle onto the floor of his bedroom. He flopped back onto the silky sheets of his bed, curling up on top of the comforter. His eyes batted shut as sleep fell upon him, dragging him into another one of those damned nightmares he'd been having ever since that night that made him the wreck he had be become.

* * *

It hadn't been a tough decision to make for Quagmire. He wanted that son of a bitch dead! That "man" had pushed his sister around for far too long – beating her, pushing her, kicking her, calling her every name in the book. He practically asked for Quagmire to do what he did.

How Brenda, such a pretty and smart woman, could have been so blind and blissfully ignorant to her boyfriend's errors was beyond Quagmire's realm of understanding. He just couldn't figure out why she stayed with him, especially since he offered to bail her out. Perhaps she was just afraid to leave, but he felt that it was more brainwash than anything else.

Jeff constantly drilled it into Brenda's head that she deserved to be treated that horribly. While no woman (or man) deserves for their partner to do such unspeakable things, it was possible that Brenda had started believing in that utter hogwash. It was possible that she, in some twisted way, thought that she _was_ unworthy of a real man that would lavish her with the respect she deserved.

Well, Quagmire had had it! He was done with sitting idly by as his sister was used for a punching bag. He was done with letting Brenda being played for a fool by such a scumbag loser. His tolerance for Jeff's abusive behavior had reached its limit.

It had grown dark. Quagmire, along with Peter, Joe, and Jeff, had decided to go on a "hunting trip". While the three pals knew, Jeff was unaware that the hunting trip was to hunt him. Quagmire had planned it perfectly, Joe and Peter helping him with the details. A hunting accident ending in the tragic death of a horrible man.

The forest around them was only lit by the campfire. They sat around the fire, kicking back a few beers and making small talk. Quagmire had perfected (well, sort of) a fake smile, executing his ruse flawlessly. He cracked a few jokes, which led to Peter stealing the spotlight to crack a few of his own, in hopes that it would put Jeff at ease. The best way for an animal to capture their prey is to make the prey feel accepted amongst the group, and that was exactly what those Quahog men had done.

The plan had been going without a hitch... until, in a whirlwind of events, Quagmire found himself at the end of a gun's barrel. His plan had blown up in his face (almost literally). The hunter had suddenly become the hunted as Jeff shoved the barrel of the gun into the hallow underside of Quagmire's awkwardly-shaped jaw.

After beating Peter and Joe unconscious with the butt of the gun, Jeff forced Quagmire into the car at gun point. His would-be brother-in-law complied, just as his sister complied whenever Jeff would demand something of her. It started to look like all the Quagmires were the same – cowards.

The buff blonde, still holding the gun against Quagmire's temple, forced the scrawny man out of the truck. They had parked in the middle of the forest where all screams and gunshots would be muffled to outsiders. All the odds were in the favor of the wrong man. Fate had seemingly took a detour, turning the forest into an alternate universe where the good was overpowered by the evil – perhaps it wasn't such an alternate universe. Considering Quagmire was at the wrong end of that gun proved that justice was a myth.

Quagmire suddenly fell in the role of his sister, being the weakling at the hands of a man twice his size. He found himself on the filthy floor of the woods, elbows sunk in the dirt and moss. His eyes somewhat crossed as they focused on the end of the gun. He could only wait for the bullet inside the gun to become lodged in his skull, shattering his face like a vase.

He trembled with fear and adrenaline. While he mentally panicked, he refused to back down from the fight. He was there to defend Brenda, and he wasn't about to leave until he had done just that. Brenda was a woman worth the end result, no matter what that result would be.

In a swift motion, he had somehow disarmed the man that towered over him with "tough" talk, saying that a real man wouldn't need a gun to kill a man. The gun was tossed out of the picture, lost somewhere along the trail. The two men were left with nothing but their own human strength. Considering Jeff was a fit, buff, and agile guy, the odds still swayed in his favor.

The two men had begun to tussle, Jeff tackling his prey like a lion taunting a baby gazelle. He gave a few sturdy punches before his muscular hands found their way around Quagmire's pencil-thin neck. The blonde put down a small bit of force at first, enjoying the dark-haired man's struggle for freedom, before really jamming his thumbs into Quagmire's windpipe. He pushed roughly against the Adam's apple, almost wanting it to pop like a piece of bubble gum. He wanted to hear that sound of his girlfriend's brother's neck snapping under his bare hands.

Jeff smirked with arrogance. It couldn't have been any easier than this! He was effortlessly squeezing the life out of another human, and it was quite satisfying to him. He peered into Quagmire's eyes, which stared at him like a frightened fawn, and took in the fear he inflicted.

Quagmire gasped for air as his hands fumbled around the muscular arms that were choking him. He clenched onto Jeff's strangling wrists, pushing them away to no avail. He flailed as the world around him had become darker and quieter; was he dying? Was Glen Quagmire really dying? And at the hands of a major douche-bag, at that?!

Despite the sudden grogginess, the victim formed his hands around his abuser's throat. He squeezed tightly, hoping to miraculously gain an advantage. There was no such luck. Quagmire had begun to fade and soon succumbed to the suffocation, blacking out and falling limp between Jeff's legs.

Jeff's smirk grew as he saw those frightened eyes glass over. When Quagmire's body fell limp, Jeff felt accomplished. He had just killed a man (at least, he thought he had) with no remorse. He felt powerful, observing the damage he'd done – black eyes, bruises, scrapes, and blood. He had really given Glen the beating that he was often tempted to give to Brenda. It was one of his dark fantasies that had finally come to life.

"That's what you get for making me feel like less of a man, you bitch," he chuckled in Quagmire's ear as the rush of the "kill" had him hallucinating with power.

The goofy-shaped man had morphed into his sister right before Jeff's eyes. It was as if Brenda was trapped between his legs instead of Glen. A beautiful, frightened, passed out woman; not an awkward, battered man with the body of a toothpick.

Jeff ran the back of his hand against Quagmire's cheek, blood smearing along the ivory flesh. It was kind of arousing, envisioning his girlfriend's face after an awful pounding. He ran his bloodied hand through Quagmire's jet-black hair, which perfectly matched Brenda's. His breath had become unsteady as the blood streaked "Brenda's" hair.

His muscular hands fiddled their way down Quagmire's Hawaiian-printed shirt. In his mind, the casual button-down appeared as a tiny pink sweater, buttoned just enough to show a bit of peek-a-boo cleavage. The illusion, induced by his power-drunken state, had created a false body; the flat-chested, straight-as-a-pin Quagmire had transformed into the busty, curvacious Brenda.

"See, if you just stayed like this all time, we wouldn't be having all these problems," the blonde growled seductively as his hallucination drew him to the other man's neck.

He brushed his lips against the nape with a shocking gentleness. However, that gentle nature was simply part of a twisted tease, which only led to a harsh bite. The bite was rough and formed a significant bruise on Quagmire's neck. Teeth marks were clearly visible as tiny droplets of blood trickled from the bite.

As he gnawed deeper into the flesh, his hands began to undo the buttons of the shirt beneath them. They had soon became impatient, tugging instead of carefully undoing the buttons. Those hands yanked so roughly that multiple buttons flew through the dark sky and hit the ground. The multiple tapping sounds of the buttons hitting nearby rocks pulled Jeff deeper into his disgusting fantasy.

While Jeff's fantasy was still only a fantasy, it seemed to be real. As he was blind to the fact that he was "pleasuring" another man, he was basically getting his rocks off by the thought of having beaten the mother of his unborn child to death. That was what made this so much more sinister that what it was; not that attemptive rape wasn't sinister to begin with.

As Jeff managed to rip open the shirt, exposing a pale and lanky chest, Quagmire slowly started to come around. His head throbbed and felt sticky with blood. His eyes fluttered open and tried to refocus, but once they did, he wished they hadn't. He glanced toward the sensation of stings that ran through his neck, only to see the side of Jeff's sweat-coated face. He reached his arms upward to try to push the larger man away. His hands folded into fists and he pounded them against Jeff's chest.

"Whoa! Th-the Hell are you doing?!" Quagmire shouted in dismay as he tried to squirm his way to freedom. "Get off of me, you bastard!"

The feeling of teeth being dug into his flesh abruptly stopped. Jeff pulled back and looked at the other man's shocked and furious expression. After an unbelievably short moment of confusion turned to pure rage, the blonde glared at the person he saw as his girlfriend with a stare that could cut through steel.

"You twisted, selfish bitch! You were just dead... I killed you! How dare you pretend like that!" He fumed as his teeth gritted. "I warned you about this crap before, Brenda. I warned you not to toy with me!"

"B-Brenda?" Quagmire questioned, his body going limp as his expression twisted into bafflement. "Listen here, you jerk, I'm not Brenda; I'm Glen, her brother... and you're insane!"

Jeff snarled as he leaned forward, the tip of his nose connecting with the panicked man's. He slid his large, masculine hands down the string that was Glen's body, images of his lovely punching bag playing before his eyes. One hand moved to push Quagmire's hips deeper into the earth to prevent escape, while the free hand snaked its way into the other man's pants.

"I'm insane? Oh, yeah, I'm the crazy one, right? Just because I didn't go to college?" The jock-like man spoke in an unsettling gruff tone. "You're the crazy one, you filthy whore. Crazy for thinking your stupid idea of saying you're your brother would save you. What if I said that _I_ was Quagmire? Huh, would you like that? I bet you would, Slut."

"What are you talking about? You came here with us, and by us I mean me – _Quagmire - _Peter and Joe. We took you on this fake-ass camping trip so I could kill you, remember?"

Suddenly, Quagmire's rather loud "reasoning" was stopped and replaced with tiny groans. The groans were a strange mixture of disgust and guilty pleasure. Jeff's hand has found its way around an area that the whimpering man was very familiar with.

"Nngh... S-stop... Stop, you son of bitch," he withered, his trembling hand wrapping around Jeff's wrist, trying to pull the invading hand out of his pants. "Uggnh..."

The protest slowed until it eventually stopped completely. Every word of anger had turned into a whine. Quagmire's face paled as his stomach tied into knots, braiding a rope all the way up to his throat. He hated himself for the involuntary noises wafting from his body; those were sounds a woman makes when he pleasured them, not the other way around. And definitely not with another man.

Jeff's fingers had, despite Glen's attempts to break away, managed to plunge themselves into the unexplored cavern. Quagmire harshly gasped as his head snapped back into the dirt. He clawed at the ground beneath him, grass and pebbles becoming lodged beneath his fingernails. Pain shot through his core, which left him to wonder if that's how the women he had taken innocence away from felt. Did it really hurt that much?

"K-knock it off!" He managed to choke out through his tightened and dry throat. "You're – gahh – you're killing me!"

The blonde smugly scoffed, "well, duh, that's the idea. God, you're so stupid, ha, ha!"

* * *

Quagmire's eyes snapped open as his body jolted up from the bed. The comforter beneath him was damp with sweat, which coated him from head to toe. The sweat and the heat of the room left him to gasp for air; the rate and intensity at which his heart was pounding didn't help. Pain shot through him with each thump of his heart.

His eyes frantically searched the room. The surroundings were just the same as they had been before he had fallen asleep. His blinds were still shut with the curtains concealing them, his door was still shut and locked, and there were still beer bottles littering the floor.

Distraught, Quagmire pushed himself off the bed. He stumbled through the sea of empty bottles in search for a full one; he was desperate for a drink. His hand was pressed against his forehead as he rummaged through the mini-fridge at the other end of his room.

"Damn," he swore, noticing that his case of beer was now an empty cardboard box sitting in the fridge.

He shut the fridge rather calmly for what he'd just dreamed about. Sure, he had woken with his heart trying to tear through his chest, but that was normal. That was Quagmire's new normal – having horrific nightmares about the night he had murdered the father of his sister's unborn child.

Every night terror had differed in content, always making it seem that Jeff was envisioning Brenda as he carried out his unspeakable act. However, Quagmire knew that wasn't the case. He was fully aware that Jeff knew what he was doing and who it was doing it to. He did it out of pure spite. Brenda wasn't around to beat and get his rocks off, so her brother was the perfect substitute. After all, the Quagmire family was known for their irresistibly good looks.

"God, I need a drink," he panted, his heart rate finally beginning to slow. He reluctantly sighed and slipped on a jacket, heading out of his home. "Guess I'll have to go to the Clam if I want to get rid of this nightmare."

It wasn't a long walk to the Clam, so he made pretty good timing for a man whose body felt like it had just ran the world's longest track. He entered the bar, his two friends sitting at their usual booth and yelling at the television. Some sports game was on, and Peter had been offended by something the announcer had said.

"Pssh, that stupid announcer guy thinks he's so funny," the tubby brunette scoffed as he folded his arms over his chest (er, breasts). "I could come up with _way_ better material than that!"

"I don't know, Peter," Joe interrupted, drumming his fingers on the wheels of his wheelchair. "That guy's a pretty big hit. People down at the Station are always copying his jokes."

Quagmire looked at his friends with hesitation. They seemed so normal (well, normal for them). They had gone on with their lives as if nothing had happened that night a little over a year ago. Of course, that was mostly due to the fact that Quagmire had never brought up what happened just prior to him plowing down that scumbag with his car. Whether it was shame or pride that prevented him from telling them, he couldn't decide. All he knew is that this secret went to the grave with Jeff and it would go to the grave with him as well.

He popped the collar of his shirt as he casually slid himself into the booth. He was greeted by his friends as his petite frame fell against the leather booth. It had been a while since he'd been to the Clam, but it seemed Peter and Joe knew not to ask about it by now... That or they just didn't care and figured he was just off with some random chick for a few weeks.

"Uh, h-hey, guys. Pass me one of those beers, would ya?"


End file.
